


our memories, beautiful like the stars

by softtofustew



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst and Feels, Fluff, M/M, Stargazing, jaepil, side dopil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16576019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softtofustew/pseuds/softtofustew
Summary: jae doesn’t think too much about it. he tries not to. he tries to ignore the fact that it’shisand wonpil’s thing, ever since they grew up as children, to cuddle under the bright night stars.





	our memories, beautiful like the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kris_the_writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kris_the_writer/gifts).



> longest one of the fic exchange works!! i like this one the most heh so i hope you enjoy this too

frankly, jae doesn’t remember the exact date when this habit of theirs started. cut him some slack: he’s seven, a stickman figure in oversized tees; the best friend holding onto his hand is five, all gummy smiles and full cheeks. jae yelps as wonpil drags him across the backyard, who only laughs.

(but jae  _ does _ remember this one special evening, when the stars were brighter than ever.)

the tinkling of wine glasses and titter of adults slowly ebbs away as they traipse across the vast yard. the grass, wet from the afternoon drizzle, squelches under their shoes as wonpil’s grip tightens around jae’s wrist. jae whines. “pillie, you’re murdering my hand!” he complains, pouting.

wonpil swivels his head around momentarily, before turning back around. “i don’t care! you’re walking too slow, old man-”

“-i’m  _ only _ two years older!” jae promptly protests, rolling his eyes for childish dramatic effect. yet, wonpil giggles, yanking the older boy along further.

they halt in front of the treehouse, the one jae had been ooh-ing and ah-ing all over the second he’d arrived at wonpil’s house - the first time at his mum’s friend’s son’s home, the first time at his very best friend’s house, has jae feeling giddy and more excited than he should be. courteously, wonpil bows before jae. “after you, madame.”

“why, thank you, fair sir,” jae chuckles, before taking up the rail of the sturdy ladder. his feet plant themselves on each rung with ease, before swinging himself up into the enclosed space. for a treehouse, jae thinks it’s spacious: a poster of constellations is taped to the wall. blankets and throw pillows line the wooden flooring. 

when he glimpses upwards at the glass ceiling , jae gasps aloud. “wonpil! wonpil! i can see the sky!”

the younger one hoists himself up into the space, smile from ear-to-ear. “see! i didn’t lie to you. i only tell the truth,” he announces proudly. he puffs his chest out, and jae personally thinks it’s adorable.

“ _ only _ the truth?” jae teases, nudging his friend. 

the other nods his head furiously, before sticking his pinkie out. “pinkie promise.”

and pinkie promise it is. their little fingers intertwine together, wonpil’s small and slender, jae’s a little bigger with the aforementioned two years ahead in time and life. with that, the two press their thumbs together to finalise the promise, before the grip on the other falters.

warmth shrouds jae’s mind as he glances upwards once again. “it’s so cool up here.” his voice is dropped to a hush, and whilst there’s no reason to be quiet, it seems like there is - being secluded, tucked away from the world of adults. a safe coven, a getaway haven, with the night stars shimmering down upon them.

beside him, wonpil shuffles closer. his foot brushes jae’s own sneaker. “see that?” his finger points out to one lone star amongst the clear velvet skies. “that guy looks lonely, but actually there are millions of his friends out there. some are too far out. and some are just shy.” 

jae nods his head, musing over this. “does he have, like, a specific group of friends? or are they  _ all _ his friends?”

“impossible!” wonpil bursts aloud. his cheeks are flushed. jae watches the colour grow and grow as wonpil begins animatedly babbling on and on. “he has a group of friends. their group’s called a ‘constellation’. together, they make a shape.” he frowns. “appa told me he was going to tell me a story about the stars, but he said i was too young.”

“oh, damn it- i mean, oh, that’s sad,” jae corrects himself. (he’s been hanging out with his friend bernard too much. bernard says a lot of funny phrases that seem to stick to his mind like glue.) “but if your appa tells you, can you tell me, too?”

leaning close, wonpil’s smile widens. “yeah, of course,” he whispers. wordlessly, he lays his head on jae’s shoulder, squirming beside him to get comfy. jae, too, shuffles a little, so their backs are aligned with the walls of the treehouse. above them, the starlight in the sky twinkles, as if winking at the two little boys in a world of their own.

 

**_______________**

 

“have you got your passport? make sure you have the cake, okay? i know it’s your first time coming back to see them, but make sure you have your head together, jaehyung ah-”

“-yeah, yeah,” jae cuts in, wincing as his mum’s never-ending nagging bursts from the other line. he shifts the phone to his left hand, all the while hoisting the duffel bag slung across his shoulder. the airport is a sea of people, waves surging back and forth as people shove their way this way and that. the stale smell of coffee in the air and chattering of strangers all around him cause his stomach to lurch just a little.  _ first time. home.  _ his _ home. _

the automatic door slides open as jae strides out, suitcase in tow. “say hi to wonpillie, okay?  _ aigoo _ , i haven’t seen him in years, i’m sure he’s very handsome now, right?” his mum rambles away. jae’s heart skips a beat.

“yeah, eomma, i get it,” jae dismisses half-heartedly. truth is, jae’s skipped out on keeping in touch with wonpil on any social media platform, save text messaging (strictly no pictures), just to keep his heart in check. the thought of moving away had hurt him well enough - he hadn’t wanted photos of his best friend, the love of his life, to sear the wound deeper. it’d been hell for him, to tell him those seven years back, of america, of a new life and a new dream and a new hope.

_ but you’ll remember me, right, jaehyungie? _ his eyes had been wide, doe-eyed - jae dies a bit more inside, every fibre twisting in pain at the remembrance of those pupils splayed out in full colour, raw and real.

_ of course, wonpil ah. _

time and distance are truly man’s worst enemies. jae thinks they did alright, the daily text messages only having lessened to a mere weekly “ _ im gud hbu _ ”, but they still chatted about their majors, their friends, music, movies.

but maybe not everything.

“okay, okay, eomma, i’m going now,” jae hastens. “yes, yes, i’ll give him the cake, it’s in the bag - no, i haven’t dropped it. okay, yes, i’ll say hi to mrs kim. okay, okay! i’ll call you later. take care!” hurriedly, jae hangs up, a sigh of relief as he disconnects from the half-hour long call with his mother. 

after jae slides the phone into his front pocket, he glimpses up to scan his surroundings. people with baggage mill about the pick-up, drop-off lane. cars and taxis honk, beep, whiz by in a blink of an eye. the smell of the city lingers in a cloud over him. a frown frames jae’s lips. 10:58.  _ where is he?  _

just as the thought enters his head, there’s yet another honk, and jae swivels his head to look at the car squeaking to a halt at the pick-up lane. amongst all the chaos of the plane flight - the spilled coffee running down the front of his sweatshirt at the airport back at the motherland, the bumpy flight accompanied by the broad, burly man squeezed beside him at the window seat, the endless calls from his mother - all the chaos that’d created nothing but built-up tension and ceaseless frustration, all of that diminished into nothing as the car lights flicker off, and out steps a figure.

it’s like the sun has been squeezed into a person, with a smile that size - jae’s taken aback. it’s like the wind has been knocked out of his very soul as the figure walks around the front of the car, a hand running through his hair.

wonpil is, for the better part, different. he’s… so different. the chubby cheeks have given way to high, defined cheekbones. his hair isn’t that awkward uncombed bush atop his head, now swept handsomely off of his forehead. jae almost swoons - he’s still small, smaller than jae’s tall, big-boned frame, but wonpil’s  _ pretty _ , from his doe eyes down to his small hips. 

it's impossible to take his eyes off of the living embodiment of the sun, really. 

wonpil's smile is radiant, teeth straight, mouth wide. “jaehyungie, is that you?” wonpil chirps. for a moment, time slows. jae notes the boy's lower register, how the boy's voice is so smooth and velvety, lower, yet still holds some childishness in his tone. 

realising wonpil's asked him a question, jae fumbles with his words. “yeah. yeah. pillie?”

“the one and only,” wonpil chuckles, taking a mock bow. his hair falls past his forehead. as he bows, the sleeves of his white tee wrap around his lithe arms, and jae finds it tough to tear his eyes away. when wonpil regains his composure, his lips are tugged into a smaller grin. 

there's a sort of silence you'd expect from years of absence, from years of unrequited love built up layer upon layer, bursting through the seams at the last second. jae takes his time to look at wonpil, to look at how grown-up he is, yet there's a familiar mischief hidden in those glowing brown irises. 

“well,” wonpil clears his throat. “shall we get going? eomma has been dying to see you, probably more than i have. let me get the bags,” he offers gleefully, and before jae can protest, the younger has taken ahold of jae's luggage. “doesn't seem like you're staying for a month, wow, look at the size of this!” jae lets him babble on and on and on, this and that, about eomma and appa and college and studies. 

throughout this, jae simply looks on, watching the younger pop the trunk open and lift the bag into the small space, watching the muscles in the younger's arms contract and relax with every motion. jae's heart swells, but he recognises the feel of it. not bliss. it's  _ bittersweet _ , like a first taste of coffee, its flavour rich and raw, yet fizzling bitter on the tongue. the way you crave to add sugar to your coffee. something is missing. 

_ what's missing? _ jae wonders. 

the sound of the trunk clicking shut tears jae out of his daze. “c'mon, jaehyungie, we haven't got all day,” wonpil whines. it's that moment in time that jae knows what it is - the boy hasn't once pulled him into an embrace, the one tight and warm and fitting, like how he'd done so all those years ago before jae took off to california. 

_ i'll hug you harder when you come back. not if! you're  _ definitely _ coming back.  _

it hurts jae more than it should, but he swallows his pride, yanks the passenger seat door open, and almost folds himself into two as he slides into the seat. it's cramped, but jae's not one to complain, not when wonpil's grinning at him, sunlight casting shadows on his face. “welcome home, jaehyungie.”

 

**_______________**

 

jae’s nine, wonpil seven, when they hurriedly excuse themselves from the dining table (“yes, eomma, i ate my greens already!” wonpil yells over one shoulder, to which jae smothers a grin - the younger had fed them to the dog underneath the scrubbed pine table). the two of them race out of the house, down the porch and tear across the garden. christmas lights strung across the exterior of the house twinkle at them, alive and dancing in the dimming day. they make a mad scramble for the treehouse. 

“after you,” jae mocks a british accent, to which wonpil giggles and thus hoists himself up. there’s the softness behind the boy’s laughter, something - there  _ has _ to be something, because now and then jae gets that jittery bundle of nerves with every word spilled from wonpil’s lips. it must be something he’s just got to get used to. should be.

just as jae pulls himself up into the enclosed space, wonpil’s fluffing the pillows and smoothing out the blanket. “c’mon, we’re supposed to be able to see perseus! appa told me a new story yesterday!”

jae’s heart turns fond as the younger eagerly pats the space beside him. the older shuffles into place, before swivelling his body around to retrieve a bag of chips (they’re stocked up on chips and cookies here; stargazing gets a little hungry sometimes). “who’s perseus?” jae wonders aloud.

“there!” wonpil points. the glass ceiling gives way for an expanse of stars against the maroon night sky, as if sewn into a silky sheet. jae’s heart skips momentarily. there’s so many stars up there, jae can’t tell which is who.

“there’s like, 20 stars? 21? anyways,” wonpil cuts short, to stick his hand into the bag and take up a handful of chips, “perseus is up there. he’s this hero who saves andromeda, who got chained to a rock by a monster called cetus. because he slayed medusa - you know, the one who turns people into stone - get this! perseus takes medusa’s head and turns the monster into stone. then perseus and andromeda fell in love and they were placed amongst these stars.”

“woah,” jae breathes. a silence presides over the both of them, save for the munching of chips. “that’s really cool.”

“yeah,” wonpil chuckles. as he tilts his head upwards to admire the stars once again, jae catches sight of some crumbs at the corner of the boy’s lips. without a moment’s hesitation, jae’s hand is raised, fingers poised to brush the crumbs away. 

startled, wonpil turns his head, so that jae’s fingers are now grazing the front of wonpil’s lips.  _ oh, god _ . jae intakes a sharp breath as his heart starts galloping again. it pounds harder now, harder than ever, like a monster ripping out of his chest.  _ can wonpil be perseus who saves me from the cetus of my heart?  _ it's cheesy, sappy even, but wonpil simply smiles back at him.

“what’s to it, jaehyungie?” wonpil asks sweetly. It’s then when jae realises his fingers are still on the younger’s lips, and he retracts, still stunned silent. “yah, calm down, it’s just me,” wonpil chimes in, before reaching out to prod jae’s side. jae yelps.

“you’re  _ so _ going to pay for that,” jae announces, and wonpil reduces to a fit of screeches as jae tackles him in the small space, tickling his sides. the blanket writhes underneath them as the two burst into peals of laughter, until there’s a shout from the house, calling the boys to “keep it down, for god’s sake!”.

as their laughter subsides, wonpil shows off that adorable gummy smile, cheeky. his eyes are bright, and jae looks at them. they’re brighter than any other star jae has seen. the stars sewn into the boy’s eyes. before he realises it, wonpil leans in, placing his head onto jae’s lap, whining quietly.

“i’m tired,” wonpil pouts. jae all but offers a gentle smile. his hand caresses the younger’s hair, that untameable bush of hair. with that, wonpil lets his eyelids fall, shutting his eyes. he’s lulled to sleep, leaving jae and the cetus of his heart awake, wild, burning alive.

jae sighs, before glancing upwards. if he squints a little more, maybe he just might see perseus winking back at him, a drawn out “hello” followed by a “goodnight”.

 

**_______________**

 

“jaehyung ah!” the living room thrives with high spirits as mrs kim bursts out of the kitchen, flower apron over an old faded tee and long flappy pants. jae muses over how the lady still doesn’t look a day over forty, her bright eyes and smile still as euphoric as ever as she pulls him into a tight embrace. from somewhere inside the kitchen, the aroma of chicken soup drifts in the summer air. behind mrs kim stands wonpil’s dad, his usual stoic face giving way to an equally beaming smile. when mrs kim finally pulls away, mr kim slaps a hand against the flat of jae’s back.

“it’s been so long, jaehyungie, aigoo,” wonpil’s mum tuts. “how have you been? how’s your eomma? i hope my emails reached her. my god, you grew up so handsome, jaehyung ah; don’t you think so, wonpillie?”

beside jae, wonpil chuckles at his parents’ antics. “yeah. definitely.” he elbows the older lightly, to which jae returns the gesture, all the while trying to calm his heart. god, cetus never gives up.

mrs kim bustles about, picking up the duffel bag on the floor. “i hope you don’t mind staying in the guest room, my dear, we haven’t had visitors in so, so long, so it might be a bit dusty-”

“-no worries,” jae soothes, before taking ahold of the duffel bag from mrs kim’s hand. “and i can take my things myself, mrs kim, you shouldn’t trouble yourself-”

“-shouldn’t trouble myself! you’re our guest, jaehyungie, i must treat you like a second son!”

from where he’s stood next to jae, wonpil rolls his eyes playfully. “please, eomma, you  _ definitely _ do not treat me as politely as you treat jaehyungie-”

“-where are your manners? he’s your hyung!” mrs kim nags away. jae can only shake his head, attempting to smother his laughter behind his fist, but wonpil notices and playfully glares at him. unbeknownst to this, mrs kim sighs deeply. “ah, jaehyung, you should take your things up first and settle down. lunch will be served soon, okay?”

“alright, then,” jae responds, before reaching down to retrieve his bags. noting his struggle, wonpil reaches down to take up jae’s huger luggage bag. the two traipse down the hallway. the interior is familiar, only the furniture having shifted this way and that. family portraits still hang as so along the corridors, and jae stops once or twice to admire them - to admire wonpil, the cutest boy ever to exist, grinning with all his teeth on a show of their own. walking up the steps has a sort of nostalgic feel, like jae’s seven and giggling before pushing the door open to wonpil’s bedroom. speaking of which…

“can i check out your room later?” jae asks lightly.

behind him, wonpil’s face freezes. noticing the sudden quietness, jae swivels around to see wonpil stuttering over his words. “n-no, it’s really messy. like, legitimately messy. especially my closet and drawers.”

“when has that stopped me?” jae chortles, but halts when wonpil gives him a look. it’s sombre, killing. unfamiliar.

“oh, okay then,” jae mumbles under his breath, before turning to the direction of the guest room. despite the happy gathering, there was a sort of vexatious uneasiness as they moved, from the car ride to now. a door flat between him and wonpil. perhaps the uncomforting seven years of absence made jae’s heart grow fonder, and maybe wonpil’s colder.

_ we’re just easing back into it, _ jae admonishes himself.

just as jae turns the knob to the guest room, the doorbell rings somewhere downstairs. upon the sound, wonpil sets the luggage down with a rather unceremonious thunk. “well. i should leave you to unpack first. i’ll head down first,” wonpil announces. when jae peers at the younger, there’s a gleaming coldness behind his pupils. before jae can say anything else, however, wonpil turns on his heel and walks off.

as he places his bags as so in the guest room, jae can’t shake the other’s standoffish behaviour off of his mind. it lays on his shoulders hard and heavy. he doesn’t have to ponder too much about it for far too long, for the answer lies in the kitchen the second jae struts in. he almost drops the cake in his hands.

there, at the dining table, is wonpil setting the table, laying the silverware down tenderly. there’s a boy beside him - the word ‘beside’ doesn’t cut it. the boy, who can’t be any older than jae, is leaning in, pressing kisses along wonpil’s exposed neckline. wonpil is in a fit of quiet chuckles, until he senses jae’s presence in the room. he peers up.

jae wants to scream. he wants to fling the cake onto the floor, wants to fling it at the nameless boy’s face, wants to run out of there, run out of this hell, all the way back to america. wants to tear the cetus of his heart right out of his chest all by himself, perseus or not. there’s a throbbing sensation in his head as he takes a step closer to the dining table. eyes numb, lips numb, senses numb, a switch flicked off all of a sudden.

“h-hi,” the nameless boy offers a crooked grin - and the worst thing? the boy is  _ adorable _ , black hair a mess, dressed in a band tee with faded letters as he sticks an arm out. “i’m dowoon, wonpil’s boyfriend. jae, right? i’ve heard lots of stuff about you, nice to meet you!”

the cheery tone of dowoon’s voice fails to register into jae’s head as they shake hands. “hey.” it's a blur of motions, his hand limp in a handshake. it's a blur of sights and sounds, the sizzling of bulgogi on the pan, the laughter that arouses from the happy couple, the cheer and joy that envelopes the house. 

it's a blur of everything, and jae can't be sure how much he can take anymore of this.

 

**_______________**

 

“shut up.” wonpil sniffs. “shut up, shut up, shut up!”

jae remembers the moment like the back of his hand: treehouse, summer night. he's thirteen, wonpil eleven, and wonpil's in tears, eyes narrowed into a glare as jae looks one. above them, the stars are dimmer, blinking once, twice, before dissipating into the blanket of the sky. wiping his nose on his sleeve, wonpil blurts out in anguish, “eomma said you wouldn't go! she said she would talk to your eomma! this is unfair!”

“i know, pil,” jae sighs. a lone tear slides down from the corner of his eye. he's shot up a good few inches these past few months, so his long legs are curled up amongst the sheets laid on the floor. he's almost cramped into a corner so wonpil can stretch out his body. 

the quietness of the night is echoed by wonpil's sniffs and the chirping of the crickets amongst the bushes in the dark, dark night. “you promised me. you pinkie promised me.”

“i guess some promises just have to be broken,” jae sighs. he rubs his cheeks furiously, ridding his cheeks of the flowing tears. “i don't want to go either.”

it's true. he doesn't want to. he knew the star was glowing, burning brightly for wonpil - something he'd learned after a kiss on the cheek from the other one fateful night two years back. it stings, this feeling. his heart throbs with a longing ache as he all but watches wonpil cry harder. 

“b-but i don't want you to go,” wonpil pouts. it's unbelievable how the boy even pulls off being so fucking cute while crying; it must be something illegal, the way he pokes his bottom lip out, the way his eyes are pink and puffy from all the crying. jae thrusts out another tissue. “t-thanks,” he mutters, before blowing into it noisily. 

beyond the sky, the stars flicker, the brightness unmistakably diminishing. “will you come back and visit me at least? please?” wonpil pleads. his voice is shaky and broken with his emotions, so badly that jae just wants to hug him tight and never let go. 

“i will, wonpillie. but you have to promise you'll still be here for me,” jae shoots back. wonpil nods silently, unable to speak, before sticking his pinkie finger out. 

“pinkie promise.”

the touch of skin against skin. the warmth of soul against soul. it's tirelessly euphoric, this feeling brewing inside jae; it only intensifies way past his limits as he feels lips pressed against his own cheek. 

when wonpil pulls back, his eyes are dark pools, still glassed over with tears. a small sigh escapes from jae's lips as he traces a thumb over the boy's cheek. “don't cry anymore, wonpil ah.”

“sorry, it's just-” wonpil rubs furiously at his eyes. “-i hate to see you leave. you're my only bestest friend here.”

it's the words that get caught in jae's throat that, perhaps, could've changed the course of everything else. if only he'd gotten them out, if only he'd choked out the words he'd been practising in front of the mirror every damned day, if only he'd said, “wonpil, i like you. you're my bestest friend here, too. you're more than my bestest friend”, if only he'd kissed wonpil back on the cheek.

was it cowardice that held him back? the fear of being isolated from his best friend just because of his spontaneous confession gnaws him away, so jae resorts to thread through wonpil's hair with his fingers. 

perhaps that day could've been the game changer, but jae didn't know back then. he was young, idle, naive. how could he have known all  _ that _ would bubble down into  _ this _ ?

 

**_______________**

 

jae remembers a geography class back in high school, in his posh, dandy, american high school - how earthquakes, how two slabs of the earth can just push and push and  _ push _ , until the strain energy is too much, too much, too much. they slip in an instance, setting off waves and waves and endless waves of energy, until you’re unsure where it starts and where it ends.

the days are hell and back. pecks on the cheek and “good morning”’s exchanged over breakfast, cuddles on the couch shared over lunch and reruns of old shows, conversations ensued over dinner and more kisses. 

the pit of jae's gut curls and uncurls infuriatingly, the way dowoon holds wonpil in the way he's always wanted to (but never did, was too scared to do) ever since they were little kids. it builds up, layer after layer, crack upon crack, until he's a volcano waiting to erupt. 

it's happiness, that he's come home to see wonpil happy. it's frustration, that he's come home to see wonpil happy. it's guilt, that he's come home to see wonpil happy, to feel so much like an intruder rather than a guest come home, to his home.

his home, here in seoul, doesn't feel so much like home anymore. 

like all earthquakes, the mass of land slips all of a sudden, out of the blue, so abruptly that no one realises. something brewing, then spilling and bubbling over the edge with a single snap of the fingers. it happens over dinner after a torturous week, over the sudden scraping of chair legs against the marble floor.

“may we be excused?” wonpil's voice floats over the table, which was groaning under the weight of home cooked dishes and seaweed soup. upon the term 'we’, jae's heart stops - but only for a second, when he glimpses up to catch sight of dowoon hastily getting onto his feet. 

mr kim chortles. “who're the two of you catching tonight?”

there's a small smile laced upon wonpil's thin lips. “scorpius, perhaps,” he replies shortly, before being yanked away by the sleeve of his sweater. there's a stumble, laughter at the door, before the familiar clicking of it shut. 

jae's stomach churns.  _ who're the two of you catching tonight? _ since when… jae's stomach sinks, fast and fast and faster to the floor, sinking through and almost burying itself under so many layers of soil, dirt and dust. there's the sweat as his palms turn clammy, there's the twitch as his left eye blinks violently, there's the biting as he chews down on his lower lip, the tears threatening to flow. before he can comprehend his thoughts, jae stumbles to his feet, mutters something about “feeling a bit sick” before hurrying out the kitchen, up the steps, into the guest room. 

he flops himself into the bed and screams. cries harder than he ever has in his life, because the pretty boy, the love of his life, certainly doesn't love him back the way young lovers do. 

(before he falls asleep after an hour of crying, jae remembers distinctively the night before he left. when they'd stepped out into the yard, with mr kim in tow. the old man had grinned at them, parted his lips. 

“who're the two of you catching tonight?”

it was their thing.  _ theirs _ . no one else's.)

 

**_______________**

 

“here,” eleven-year-old wonpil thrusts something out towards jae. baffled, jae sets his duffel bag down to inspect the object dangling out of wonpil's clenched fist. he studies it with intrigue, whilst wonpil covers up a giggle.

“what's that?” jae asks.

wonpil wiggles his eyebrows. “yours.”

curious, jae pries wonpil's fingers open delicately, revealing a silver chain. upon the silver chain are two pendants, a golden star and a silver moon. the sunlight bounces off of the two glorious pendants as jae slowly brings them to eye level for further inspection.

“woah,” jae breathes. his heart thumps a little faster. 

“i know you said you wanted to get your ears pierced next time… though god knows if you're game enough to do so,” wonpil snorts, “so i got you this necklace. the star is you because you're always radiant. and i'm the moon.”

a puzzled expression passes jae's face. wonpil? he's always associated the younger to the star, glowing and bright and positively glorious. “why the moon, though?”

“because even in america, when you look up at the moon, it'll still be the same moon i see from here,” wonpil begins. “despite everything else, we'll still see the same moon together, wherever you are. and when you look up at the moon, you'll be reminded of me, because i'll always be here waiting and looking for you.”

there's tears in jae's eyes as he throws his arms around wonpil's body. “thank you,” he breathes shakily, lungs constricted. the words at the tip of his tongue beg to be spilled.  _ i like you so much, kim wonpil. i like you _ . his throat narrows further, clogged with emotions and hopes and stupid young dreams as he hugs wonpil tighter. “thank you so much, wonpillie ah.”

“it's nothing, jaehyungie,” wonpil chuckles, embracing him back just as fiercely. 

seven years later, jae's twirling the necklace on his bed, the pendants between his fingers. he's here, he's home. he's all that wonpil has been waiting for, has been looking for. yet, nothing feels like home, nothing feels the same anymore. 

it's late evening on his second sunday here. wonpil's in the living room, cuddling with dowoon. the schedule goes as so: at 10PM, dowoon will press kisses along wonpil's forehead and wish him good night. at 10:05PM, he'll greet mr and mrs kim good night, before stalking out and clambering into his car. at 10:07PM, wonpil will resign to his room. 

jae thinks it's stupid. but he's desperate. he's here for a reason, and despite the daily conversations, they hold awkwardness and a stagnant flow, as if they're long lost twins with no knowledge about the other. he's desperate for all the very things he came back all the way here for: stargazing. cuddles. a young love still ablaze after all these years. 

so, at 10:10PM tonight, jae finds himself padding along the walkway, raising his arm to knock against the plain wood or wonpil's door. there's a pause, before a hesitant “yeah?” from the inside. jae takes this as approval, thus turns the knob and walks straight into the room. 

it occurs to jae that he's never actually bothered to enter wonpil's room in the first place. it's clean, bed made, desk table in order. something that strikes jae is the expanse of the wall adjacent to the bed: dozens and dozens of photographs are strung, taped and tacked to the walls, spanning the space from top to bottom, every crevice covered with colour. jae tears his eyes away from the wall to find wonpil at the desk, book in his hands. 

“yeah, jae?” wonpil quizzes - jae misses this. misses the attention, as petty as he sounds. but he's petty, and desperate, and so he plops himself onto the edge of the bed. one wrong move, and it's game over. 

“hey wonpillie. can i… ask you something?”

“sure,” wonpil chirps. he sets the novel down and swivels the chair to face jae. his eyes are wide with fascination and wonder, hair a little unkempt, but adorable nonetheless. jae slows his racing heart. 

“do you and dowoon… go stargazing sometimes?”

as if on impulse, wonpil flinches. a split second later, he regains his composure. he clears his throat. “well… yeah. i got him into astronomy, y'know? initially he was in the music club after school but i dragged him to astronomy. we watch the stars sometimes.”

the anger bubbles stronger in jae's gut. “does he like stargazing?” he prods. 

“i suppose,” wonpil shrugs. 

before he can turn back to his book, jae stands to his feet. with two long strides he's looming above wonpil, eyes on fire. “how about we go stargazing now?”

“n-now?” the stammer of his word is evident and crystal clear in jae's ears. he can't tell if it's good or bad. “i mean, sure, i-”

“-wonpil,” jae cuts him off. he sighs, before reaching from under his tee for the necklace. he lifts it out. the pendants twinkle under the bright room lights. “you promised me you'd still be here for me. ever since i came back, it's been distant between the both of us. i understand you've got dowoon… but i've always wanted to go back to watching stars together. that's the whole point of me coming back, to see you and do the things we do. like we used to.” with that, jae draws in a long, sharp breath. “may you please do me the honour of going stargazing with me?”

doubt is etched all over wonpil's eyes. in jae's, there's the angel and the devil on either side of the younger's shoulders - jae pleads with the devil, pleads him into convincing wonpil to give in. 

there's a glimmer of something in wonpil's starry eyes. fear? anxiety? longing?  _ whatever it is, it’s something. _ “okay. yes. sure.”

 

**_______________**

 

admittedly, the treehouse is nothing short of miniscule - the pillows are missing to occupy more space, but jae's legs dangle out of the doorway to the treehouse. more constellation posters are tacked to the walls. wonpil adjusts himself, his knees pressed against his chin as he curls himself into a bit of a ball. 

“you good?” wonpil asks. 

jae chokes out a “yeah”, before glancing upwards at the stars. 

seven years ago, they'd be pointing out the stars in the sky, they'd be tossing chips at each other, they'd be tickling each other and exchanging jokes and stories and pinkie promises. seven years later, they're here: awkward, tense, wonpil looking down at his sneakers, jae looking at anywhere else but wonpil. 

what has changed? everything, he supposes. 

“how's… dowoon?” jae manages. 

“good,” wonpil clips. “we're good.”

there's jealousy, and there's envy. “i suppose the two of you are close,” he adds.

gradually, wonpil lifts his head to face jae. he examines his long distance friend spiralling further and further away from him, away from the years and years of friendship between the both of them. “i suppose so.”

beyond the treehouse, streetlights flicker to the sound of crickets chirping in the wild, hidden amongst the bushes. a sigh escapes from jae's lips. 

“i've missed you.”

it's different, this time around. not the spur of the moment at the airport, something natural said to each other after nearing a decade of absence. it's longing, a desire so strong it aches, a desire so strong by simply the sound of it. 

wonpil gulps. 

“i've missed you too,” he responds, quietly. 

“doesn't seem like it.”

jae knows he's harsh - but to be fair, wonpil's always with dowoon, even with jae lingering around like a bystander, an onlooker. it hurts jae to the bone. 

it's not just about seeing the love of his life taken by someone else. it's seeing the best friend of his life taken by someone else. it cuts jae deep; it's cut jaew deep enough to be pained after a mere two weeks.

wonpil runs a hand through his hair. “look, i'm sorry. it seems like i've been ignoring you, this whole time you've been back. i'm in the wrong here.”

jae hums. “you're sorry?”

“yeah.”

the creeping desire leaps out of jae's chest. “prove it, then.”

there's no ounce of playfulness in jae's proposal. “what?” wonpil asks, puzzled. his eyebrows knit together.

a smile adorns the older's face, for the first time in a long time. wonpil's forgotten just how handsome jae looks with his grin, almost illegally adorable; the way the corners of jae's eyes crinkle, the wide mouth and full lips, the curve of the older's shoulders. as the thoughts of  _ thisisn'tright _ and  _ whyamithinkingabouthim _ betray his mind, wonpil doesn't flinch, even when jae pulls him into a tight embrace. 

the angle is awkward, given their legs are a mess - jae's curled them into the treehouse as best as he can, shorts exposing pale skin running for miles, against pyjama pant-clad ones. the heat rushes to wonpil's cheeks as jae presses his forehead against wonpil's, hands wrapped around wonpil's torso.

“cuddle with me, then,” jae mumbles.

_ this isn't right this isn't right this isn't right this isn't right this isn't right. _ but wonpil hugs him back, because hugging jae is hugging the best friend you could ever have, having been gone for so long, and is finally back in your arms. 

_ this isn't right this isn't right this isn't- _

they align themselves, chest facing chest, legs entangled and thumping against the walls of the treehouse. jae's chest is tight, cetus burning and ablaze underneath his hot skin as they press against each other. on the other hand, wonpil takes notice of everything he hasn't noticed before: the way jae's glasses press against wonpil's forehead, the way jae's hair falls past his eyebrows so prettily, the way jae's fingers are so long and slender and graze the small of his back virtually perfectly. 

_ this isn't right- _

“i've missed you so much,” jae whispers again. his voice cracks at the edges from raw emotion, and it pains wonpil, knowing the ignorance he's been feeding jae ever since he came back. 

jae likes this. cuddling with wonpil. it's like hugging the sun, radiant and thrumming underneath the flat of his palms. he lets a hand stroke wonpil's soft, soft hair, the other tracing circles along wonpil's back.

the younger sighs shakily. “i've missed you too. after you left, i didn't go stargazing for a while. it hurt too much, knowing i couldn't do so with you.” the words are genuine and heart-wrenching all at once; it doesn't come as a surprise when jae impulsively presses his lips against wonpil's forehead. 

“i like you.”

the words are out. the words lodged at his throat, are out. there's the widening of eyes, the quickening of heartbeats, the realisation dawning upon both. but before wonpil can say anything else, jae presses a finger against wonpil's lips. “you don't have to say it back. i know you love dowoon. tonight. please. just tonight.”

everything jae has wished has come true - in the worst way possible. a one-time confession, a one-night shared moment. jae knows when he wakes up, tonight will haunt him for life, but for now, he snuggles closer to wonpil, the fire combusting for him, its flames licking up every bit of his conscience. 

wonpil, too, knows  _ this isn't right this isn't right this isn't right _ , but when were things ever right after jae left? dowoon is the last person on his mind as his arms curl around jae's torso, all big bones and little muscle. 

this isn't right, but it  _ feels _ right - it feels right in the arms of the other, the arms of friends and perhaps young lovers. it feels right to claim the other as a cuddle pillow for the night, the stars aglow overhead. 

it feels right to reminisce about their memories of stars and friends and home, just for tonight. despite the consequences, despite everything else, jae just wants this one night, this one night far from perfect, but might never come close to regret. 

  
  



End file.
